shrugged. The baby was growing more and more squirmy.
“He’s probably hungry. I’ll take him,” she said, reaching for Dante.
He relinquished the child, feeling the cold air hit where the baby had been.
“What are you working on?” she asked, moving back to the workbench and looking at the wooden pieces.
Cristiano turned as well. The emotional toll started to overwhelm him. Needing a diversion, he crossed the small room and picked up one of the pieces that would be a chair leg. “A table and chair set for Dante.”
“Wow, you can do that? Did you do all those?” She looked at the pieces lined up against the wall.
“It’s been a long summer. I don’t just ignore housework,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.
“These are beautiful.” She stroked a finger across the smooth polished top of a small half pie table. The cabriolet legs were elegant. The rich cherry wood gleamed even in the defused lighting.
“Those legs were hard to do. I ruined more pieces than I wanted.” Temper had played a part, but he didn’t need to tell her that. Impatient with his recovery, feeling helpless, he’d taken it out on the wood.
“And this, what a beauty this is. Did you make it for someone?” The small console table had classic lines and a band of inlay lighter wood in the perimeter.
“Just made them to kill time while recuperating.”
“I’d buy this one if it’s for sale,” she said hesitantly.
“You can have it. No charge.” He wondered where she would put it. Could he visit her one day and see how she was using it? It made him think of a connection between them. For as long as she held onto the table, she’d be holding onto a part of him.
He turned back to the workbench.
“Go on and work if you wish. Looks like we’re going to be here a while with the rain. We won’t get in your way,” she said with a smile. “I can’t wait to see what Dante’s going to get. He’s one lucky boy, isn’t he?”
That damned optimism. Cristiano shook his head. How could she think that? The kid had no mother or father. No known relatives. He placed a terrible burden on the young woman now his mother. Yet Mariella seemed sincere in her comment.
Cristiano began working on the leg. At first he was conscious of Mariella watching him. But soon the pleasure he took in working with wood took over.
He was aware when she fed the baby, of the soft lullaby after he ate. Then when she put him down in the stroller for nap. She came back to stand beside him.
“Circle of life sort of thing, isn’t it?” she said.
“What is?”
“You fight fire and destruction, and now create things of beauty. A balance. Is that why you do it? To balance out?”
“No. I do it because I like it. My grandfather taught me.”
“And your father taught you to cook?”
“A bit. I do like good food prepared well.”
“I can boil eggs,” she said impishly.
He laughed. He couldn’t help it. She’d been to America and back. Was capable of taking on an infant. And couldn’t cook worth beans?
“So you and Dante will live happily ever after on boiled eggs.”
“I might have to expand my repertoire,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Maybe you can give me some hints.” She frowned. “You don’t think that will be a problem in the future, do you? I mean, I can learn. And for now he’s just beginning to eat baby food, so no worries.”
“I’m sure that’s not a condition of growing up healthy. Though to enjoy eating, you do need to know more than how to boil eggs.” He shook his head. All the members of his family knew how to cook. Well, he wasn’t sure about the newly found half-brothers from America. But if they lived alone at any time, they would cook for themselves.
“So tell me what you’re doing now,” she said, pressing closer. She was a toucher. He hadn’t been touched since he left hospital. Until now. Every time Mariella came close, she reached out or bumped against him. He liked the human contact. The thought of pulling her into his arms grew stronger by the second.
He cleared his throat and began to explain, hoping talking would get his mind off what his body was craving—contact up close and personal with Mariella Holmes.
The worst of the storm seemed to be easing. The baby slept in the stroller. And Cristiano showed his work to an interested party. Mariella exclaimed over the craftsmanship and he felt the tightness ease. He might not be a hundred per cent yet, but he still had the ability to build something beautiful.
He glanced at his watch, surprised to see the morning had fled.
“I can give you a ride back. The worst of the rain seems over.”
“Beats pushing the stroller. Plus it’s decidedly colder after the rain.”
Once in the car, Cristiano looked at her. “Since we’re going out, what about lunch?” He surprised himself, then knew it was the right thing to do when she gave a happy nod.
“I would love that. I’m hungry. Do we have time to go to Monta Correnti? We could eat at your family’s restaurant.”
Cristiano hesitated. There was Pietro’s in the village. He’d much rather eat there. He hadn’t been to Rosa since long before the bomb. He felt a moment of panic. What if he had a flashback in the restaurant? What if he completely lost sight of reality and ended up beneath a table? His family would be horrified.
He knew he had to face his family at some time. The longer he delayed, the more suspicious his absence would become. His sister and father already complained they never saw him.
Yet, he wasn’t ready.
Would he ever be?
“Never mind. Forget it. Pietro’s is fine. Of course their sauce is not as good,” she said.
“Fine, we’ll go to Rosa.” With any luck, his sister would be too busy to stop to talk to him. Though lunch during the week wasn’t normally as crowded as dinners—or weekend crowds. With real luck, he’d act normal for the time it took to order and eat. Then get out of Monta Correnti and back to the safety of the cottage.
He drove through the intermittent rain testing his will power. He tried to gauge his feelings as they approached the town his family lived in. So far so good.
As they reached the outskirts of Monta Correnti she spoke for the first time since leaving the village.
“It’s really pretty, even in the rain. I can see why Ariana spoke so fondly of it. And the memories I think were happy even though the end of their affair brought pain.”
The closer he drove to the restaurant,
